


embers

by crimsonxflowers



Category: Boardwalk Empire
Genre: Established Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Set post 3x08
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-21
Updated: 2018-12-21
Packaged: 2019-09-24 04:14:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,356
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17093843
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crimsonxflowers/pseuds/crimsonxflowers
Summary: He's not sure how long they stand there, Meyer taking slow, deep breaths that do very little to hide what's going on in his head, Charlie just listening to him breathe and trying not to breathe too deep himself and piss off his ribs even more. But eventually, Meyer says, "Never again in that shithole without me. Do you hear me? Never again, Charlie."





	embers

**Author's Note:**

> set very shortly after the explosion in 3x08 "the pony". just good old fashioned hurt/comfort for the holiday season.

Charlie's too shaken up to feel much of anything on the way back to New York, aside from wanting to sleep off the ringing in his ears and the ache in his side from where he hit the ground, but he'd be lying if he said he wasn't almost bowled over with relief just from walking into their office. Meyer's there, of course he is, solid and real and in New York, not Atlantic City, and Charlie is going to stop that train of thought before he gets as worked up as Meyer looks. Not that he's got the energy to get worked up, but the thought of Meyer having been there, the thought of him getting hurt too, makes something sick twist in his gut anyway.

The dozen or so cigarette butts in the ashtray are a pretty good indicator of what Meyer's been up to instead, though. Another one, half-finished, joins them, crushed into the glass as Meyer strides towards Charlie. To anyone else he'd look a little agitated, but nothing to write home about. But there's a strain in his shoulders and a tightness around his mouth as he stops a few inches away from Charlie, and the way his fingers twitch at his side gives even more away. The worst part is the look in his eyes, like he's not all the way there, his sharp little Meyer buried under fear and all the worst-case scenarios Charlie just knows have been running through his head all night.

He doesn't know what to do to get that look off Meyer's face, and he's a little afraid if he pushes Meyer up against the wall and just buries his face in his neck like he really wants to, he'll just break under Charlie's hands like glass. He can't stop himself from reaching out for Meyer's hand anyway, and when Meyer's fingers lock vice-tight around his own, it settles some of the noise in Charlie's head. He forces a tired grin, says, "Guessin' you heard, huh?" and the way Meyer's grip somehow gets even tighter says everything Charlie needs to hear about that.

Meyer's jaw works, like he's going to say something, but he just blinks, and his gaze refocuses on Charlie's face instead of wherever he was in his head. His eyes skid over Charlie's face, lingering at the cuts along his jaw just starting to scab closed, before he looks down, his free hand following his gaze as he presses his palm down Charlie's torso, light at first, then more firmly when Charlie doesn't wince at his touch. Charlie just stands there, lets Meyer do whatever it is he needs to do here, and when Meyer's shoulders just barely relax—satisfied, or at least placated, by the lack of blood and broken bones under his hands—and his head tips forward against Charlie's shoulder, his arms circle Meyer's shoulders as Meyer's wind around his waist. The rest of the exhausted tension bleeds away as he leans into Meyer's touch, and Charlie feels like he could fall asleep right there as long as Meyer stays.

He's not sure how long they stand there, Meyer taking slow, deep breaths that do very little to hide what's going on in his head, Charlie just listening to him breathe and trying not to breathe too deep himself and piss off his ribs even more—things are mostly clear this long after, but he's tired on top of rattled, so he's not keeping time all that well. But eventually, Meyer says, "Never again in that shithole without me. Do you hear me? Never again, Charlie."

Charlie blinks down at the top of Meyer's head, caught off guard by the raw anger in Meyer's voice, even muffled against Charlie's chest. "Ain't hearin' much past the ringing in—hey!" He yelps, surprised more than pained, as Meyer's balled fist lands heavy against his shoulder. Meyer's head snaps up, and he's not gone again, but there's more fear in his eyes than he'd ever admit to out loud.

" _Don't_. Do not even begin to joke—" Meyer takes a long, shuddery breath, fingers clenching in the fabric of Charlie's shirt. Nothing else comes, and Charlie can't remember the last time Meyer couldn't find the words for what's in his head. All Charlie can do is wrap his arms tighter around his shoulders, reaching up to run his fingers through the hair at the nape of Meyer's neck. That just makes Meyer exhale, hard, and squeeze Charlie's waist tighter. 

"I been in worse scrapes than that an' you know it," he says, tone as light and teasing as he can make it, considering. And he means it—he's still walking, there were no bullets, he won't come away from this with any scars and they've both seen a lot worse. But Meyer's face doesn't change, the emptiness still mounting behind his eyes. Charlie blinks again, brushes his fingers through Meyer's hair a second time, at a loss. "Don't have any plans to go back there any time soon, alright?" He asks, more serious this time, and when Meyer's gaze drops to the cuts along his jaw instead of answering, Charlie slides his hand forward and tilts Meyer's head up til his gaze meets Charlie's. "Meyer. I'm okay."

That seems to get through, and the blank look fades away, replaced half with relief and half with anger. Those are familiar, those Charlie can handle, and a little ember of satisfaction burns in his chest the same way it always does when Meyer gets ruffled up over him. Meyer lets go of Charlie's shirt, and wraps his arm back around Charlie's waist, palm resting against the small of his back, and that makes Charlie shiver too. "They'll pay for it," he murmurs, quietly vicious as always. "Thompson, Masseria, whoever else was involved."

Charlie snorts, immediately regretting it when it sends a fresh spike of headache through his skull. "Yeah, this and everything else," he mumbles in response, because this is just how it goes—the Mustache Petes do what they want, doesn't matter who gets hurt in their turf wars, til you get big enough to do it back and make them stop. They're gettin' there, and as long as they've got each other they'll make it, even if they have to keep eating shit for a little while longer.

But Meyer pulls back, just a few inches, eyes dark and serious as he studies Charlie's face, before he says, "This and everything else." There's a finality to it, a certainty in Meyer's voice that's as grounding as his arms around Charlie's waist, and Charlie doesn't have it in him to argue with it even if he wanted to. Meyer wants to burn Atlantic City down to make good all the shit Thompson's pulled on them both? Charlie'll be right next to him, matches and gas canister ready to go.

Just... not tonight. The exhaustion rolls over him in an even deeper wave, and it takes him more effort than it probably should to keep his eyes open any longer. "Got anything else needs doin' here?" When Meyer shakes his head in the negative, Charlie leans his cheek against the crown of his head and sighs. "Good. All I want now's a bath and bed."

Meyer hums wordlessly, and Charlie reluctantly straightens up as he shifts, but before he can go anywhere Meyer slides a palm along his jaw, the side without the scrapes. Charlie can't help but look down and meet his gaze, and whatever Meyer sees in his face has him leaning up, carefully, to press his lips to Charlie's. It's only a few seconds, short and as chaste as anything about them is, but it helps shut up the rest of the shit in Charlie's head. Meyer's here. He's here. They're alive. And Thompson will get his in the end.

Meyer settles back down, but reaches out for Charlie's hand again. "Let's go home," he murmurs, and turns for the door. All Charlie wants to do is follow, let Meyer pull him along to get some rest. 

So that's what he does.

**Author's Note:**

> i live for comments, or come talk to me about gangsters in love on [tumblr!](http://meyerlansky.tumblr.com/)


End file.
